Evening Gowns & Private Balconies
by Daphodill
Summary: Bella's first time at the Symphony with the Cullens is an eye-opening experience. Entry for Public Lovin Fanfiction Contest
1. Chapter 1

Evening Gowns & Private Balconies

By Daphodill

Entry for Public Lovin Fanfiction Contest hosted by:

GossipLips, JandMsMommy, and MissJanuary

publiclovinfanfictioncontest dot blogspot dot com

*Disclaimer – All public recognized characters are the property of their respective owner. No copyright infringement is intended.

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~o0o~

**BELLA**

The Cullens and I sit in a private box, overlooking the stage. Never have I seen a more glorious sight. The lighting, made to look like gas lamps, cast everything in a soft yellow glow. Soon the concert hall grows quiet as the conductor takes the podium. The musicians are already seated, but I don't see Edward at the piano. An announcement comes over the system explaining that Edward is the guest accompanist. The crowd erupts in cheers. My man is popular. Esme grips my hand, the pride in her son evident in her body language.

Then there he was.

Tall and confident. His wild hair slicked back in an attempt to tame it. He is resplendent in his tuxedo, full tails and a waistcoat. I am a lost cause as he rounds the piano, touching it tenderly as the applause dies down. He flicks his tails behind him as he takes his seat. The conductor taps his baton on the podium, calling the musicians to attention. Soon the most sumptuous sounds invade my ears as Edward's hands caress the ivory keys.

So enthralled with Edward and his astounding ability, I barely notice that Esme has released my hand. Strings weave in with the notes Edward created, followed by soft horns, all melting together in a perfect harmony. Emmett moves closer to me, both of us nearly tumbling over the edge of our private balcony. His eyes are trained on a gorgeous cellist.

**ESME**

I love the symphony! It was quite fortuitous that Edward was offered this last-minute gig, gives me an excuse to drag Carlisle out with me. He could care less about the music, he's there to support his son, but there are also other incentives for his attendance.

It is wonderful that Edward has found Bella. They both were so lonesome. They deserve the happiness that Carlisle and I have found in each other. Hopefully, that means that there is hope for Emmett as well.

All at once the lights have dimmed, romantic music is playing, and my husband's hand is creeping up my thigh.

I love the symphony!

**CARLISLE**

Es is an absolute vision. The green of her dress makes every inch of her body shine. Edward finally came out on the stage and I thought poor Bella was going to faint at the sight of him. I couldn't help but laugh, she is beyond smitten, as is my son. Both of them. Emmett seems to have adopted Bella as his kid sister.

Quickly, I notice Emmett is gripping the edge of the balcony right alongside Bella. There is a lovely blonde cellist that has caught his eye.

While the children are distracted, I make my move.

I inch my hand carefully up Esme's dress, the silky fabric cooperating with my objective. I find her center, hot, wet, and waiting for me. Rotating my hand, I tease the sensitive flesh there. Leaning to whisper in her ear, I pant. "No panties?" I purr while biting her ear not able to stop my smile against her throat.

"This dress is unforgiving. I didn't want the panty-lines to show," she says with an almost straight face.

My wife is a goddess, loving, giving, kind but she is adventurous too, always eager to_ play_ with me. These types of events are our favorite. The sensual darkness, surrounded by ethereal tones provide the perfect backdrop for our adventures.

I flick my finger, teasing her dripping core. She enjoys this just as much as I do. Esme gnaws on her lip as I trail wet kisses down her neck, stopping at her heaving breasts. Round, firm, pert still, after all these years. Dipping two fingers inside her scorching heat, I press the heel of my hand against her clit as I pump my fingers in and out.

Reaching out, fumbling with my belt buckle, Esme pushes her small hand into my pants and begins stroking my weeping cock, dragging the pad of her thumb over my slit, collecting my glistening pre-cum. She removes her hand and brings her thumb to her mouth, swirling her tongue around and then sucking dramatically. I grab her hand, tugging her from her chair, slipping my own fingers in my mouth, savoring the divine flavors of my wife.

Emmett and Bella are focused on the stage, I can't tell you what the hell Edward is playing because I have my own music to make.

Pushing Esme against the back wall of our box, I drop to my knees and hook her leg over my shoulder. Her hands go into my hair, gripping it tightly as I plung my tongue into her.

I take my thumbs, opening her up wider, giving me better access to the tight bundle of nerves at her core. Laving firm licks from top to bottom, bottom to top. I press my tongue as deep inside as I can and pinch her clit feeling her quivering around my tongue as she climaxes. It is exquisite. Her quiet squeaks and moans the only indication of what we've been up to.

Not moving from my position, worshiping at the alter that is my wife, I carefully set Esme back down. Her hands are tightly tangled in my hair. She yanks my head back and growls playfully. "Get up here, Cullen."

Obediently, I stand and face my wife. The yellow glow of the lights bring out the pink in her heaving breast, the high of her orgasm causing her body to flush. She is gorgeous. I cast a quick look at Emmett and Bella, their gaze hasn't left the stage. Good, because Esme is eagerly pushing my pants down.

**ESME**

Carlisle is naturally good at a lot of things, sometimes it is frustrating that he's so damned perfect. Other times I'm walking around smug as hell because he's mine. We have, on many occasions, made a spectacle of ourselves at the hospital. Usually it is after he's told me of an overly friendly colleague. I'm blessed – my husband is young, virile, sexy, and brilliant. I can't fault other women (and sometimes men) who lust after him. Hell, we've been together forever and he still causes my lady bits to tingle whenever he enters the room.

Speaking of lady bits. I am throbbing, aching to have him inside of me. I'm patting myself on the back for not letting myself go over the years. Carlisle is in amazing shape for a man of forty-five. The ridges and planes of his muscular form know how to give me just what I need. I fumble with his pants, pushing them down and releasing his spectacular member. In one fluid motion he has my dress pulled back and is cupping my ass, lifting me off the ground. I wrap my legs around his waist, my heels locking myself in place as he finds my center and pushes into me.

The movement is shallow in this position, but I feel so much more of him. I fight the urge to scream and disrupt the entire auditorium. Burrowing my face into Carlisle's suit jacket as he thrust into me, I clamp down on his shoulder, muffling my moans and causing him to unwilling release his own.

My eyes snap open in surprise hoping we haven't drawn attention to our_ activities_. Shit. Emmett shifts in his seat, turning his head slightly–listening. He shakes his head and leans back over the balcony, returning his attention back to the stage.

Carlisle increases his pace, grunting into my bosom. "Oh God, Es. So good, baby," he pants, his hand gripping my ass so firmly that I'm sure it will leave a mark. I'm definitely not complaining.

Latching my mouth onto his neck, I nibble and lick as my body absorbs Carlisle's thrusts. Our connection is primal and ethereal at the same time. His tongue leaves a fiery trail across my cleavage. I tighten my grip on him as he dips down a little lower, changing his angle and touching my most sensitive spot all the more.

The motion instantly shoots tingles throughout my body, causing my mouth to water. "Come on, Es. I can't last much longer. So good, baby," Carlisle moans. At his urging I move my hand down to where we are connected. The wet, sticky slick of our arousal spreading over my fingers as Carlisle moves inside me, growling at the sensation.

I can hardly control myself. It has been a while since Carlisle and I have done anything like this. After being interrupted this morning, both of us had a lot of pent up energy.

Touching where we are joined is driving both of us wild. I don't know how much longer we can go without drawing attention to ourselves, besides, this is a short performance–for Edward, I mean. Carlisle, he's got stamina like nobody's business.

I circle my clit, matching Carlisle's rhythm, tipping the tide on our release. A silent scream passes my lips as I throw my head back hitting the wall a little too hard, causing the sconces to rattle as Carlisle doubles his efforts to reach his own peak. I milk him through the aftershocks of my own powerful orgasm, feeling him twitch and tremble through our connection.

Carlisle buries his face in my breasts, breathing hard as he withdraws himself from my body and setting me on my own, unsteady feet. I stroke his scalp, running my fingers through his hair, bringing his face up for a kiss. "I love you," I whisper. He mumbles incoherently in response, tucking himself back in to his pants.

Helping him adjust his clothing so that he looks more presentable, I deposit him in his chair behind Bella and slip out of the box to go clean myself up.

**CARLISLE**

Whew. I'm not as young as I used to be. I am totally ready for a post-coital nap right now. Too bad Edward's show is just short of an hour. Taking a deep breath I'm still coming down from my Esme high. I smell her on me, in the air, everywhere. Even though I'm in my forties with two adult children, I have a quick recovery time and just the smell of my amazingly sexy wife makes me want her again.

Emmett and Bella haven't come out of whatever spell they're under. They are just looking all googly-eyed at the stage below us. I know the feeling. Esme still makes me feel that way. I'm blessed.

My gorgeous wife returns to my side just as the last number is finishing. She grips my hand tightly. Ever the proud and adoring mother, she's beaming over our son. Releasing my hand, she claps furiously. She even lets out a few loud whistles and whoops. And everyone says Emmett gets his lack of tact from me...

**BELLA**

I swat at my tears, embarrassed that I'm so overcome. The orchestration was simply gorgeous and Edward. God. There are no words.

I want everything with this man.

The house lights come up and the audience makes their way out of the auditorium. The Cullens remain still. Emmett leans over to me, whispering in my ear. "Sit tight, Iz. We'll go down to see Ed in a few. No worries. Besides, the old folks need to get their shit together."

I cock an eyebrow at him, confused. He tips his head in his parents' direction. I see out of the corner of my eye that Esme's dress is a little rumpled and Carlisle is out of his jacket. His tie loose, and his pants wrinkled. Now that the lights are up, I see they both have a freshly fucked look about them, Carlisle's hair is wildly mussed and Esme's long waves are a bit tangled.

My mouth falls open as I look at Emmett. My eyes question what I think happened. Emmett nods in confirmation. I mouth, 'Oh. My. God!' Thankfully Emmett's large frame blocks my reaction, so Dr. and Mrs. Cullen don't see my face. I lean close to Emmett and whisper, "are they always like this?"

"Worse sometimes," he answers solemnly. "Let's go find Eddie and I wanna meet that blonde with the cello." He stands and offers me his elbow. Stepping past his parents, Emmett acts all hoity-toity while I try not to break out in a full giggle fit. "Mother. Father," Em says all superior-like, and escorts me towards the service elevator.

I can't hold my laughter in any longer as I hear Dr. Cullen ask, "What's his problem, Es? I thought we were pretty quiet."

As the elevator doors close I see Esme patting Carlisle's back and laughing just as hard as I am. She looks up at me and winks. I can't help but hope that Edward and I have a private balcony in our future.

~o0o~

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Thanks to Jsparke19 for beta'ing this for me. Her feedback was extremely helpful to a newbie like me.

Voting begins on my birthday (11/26); **hint-hint, wink-wink**

This is an excerpt from a multi-chapter fic that I've been working on, CTA Dreams. I'll submit the entire thing once the judging is over. CTA Dreams is a series of drabble vignettes from varying POVs all centering around the same event (think about the movie _Love Actually_). It is a little romantic, a little funny, a little sexy.

This is my first experience in writing in this genre and for a contest. I hope you enjoyed it.


	2. CTA Dreams Chapter 1 - BELLA

**Thanks for putting Evening Gown & Private Balconies on alert. I have begun posting the full fic, CTA Dreams. **

**I've included the first chapter for you. Please join me at: s/9172436/1/CTA-Dreams**

**Best - Daph**

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I climb the stairs to the train platform at the ass crack of dawn, keeping the same routine for the past six months. This rickety piece of shit station probably should have been condemned or something. For the life of me I don't know why the CTA doesn't have this rat-infested stop on their "To Deep Clean" list. It reeks of liquor, urine, and sweat every single morning. What do people do in this stairwell in the middle of the night? Forget it—I don't want to know.

I take a deep breath, holding my life's blood close to my nose, wishing the coffee could better mask the grotesque stench. Four-thirty every morning, I race up these godforsaken stairs. I mean, really? Would it kill someone to retread these bad boys? They are a death trap, thank God there's an awning covering them.

Once I reach the platform, I can finally breathe again. I'm grateful that Chicago is the Windy City because, DAMN. I'm just saying. The breeze is welcome right now even though the cold, damp September air is cutting me up. Thankfully, it drives the wafting scent of human excrement away from me.

I sip on my steaming travel mug, hoping the caffeine will kick start my comatose brain cells as I slide my fare card into the slot on the turnstile.

A reddish-brown blur sits behind the glass, if you can even call it that. There is a funky, scratched up film that makes it seem like it is intentionally smoked. It isn't. The CTA sucks, that's all. I feel bad for the station attendant that's stuck inside that tiny booth.

It's kind of eerie, though. I know someone's in there but I can't see them. Most mornings I'm at this station alone, except for the phantom in the booth. I come from a tiny town in Washington where my dad's a cop, so I may be a little paranoid. He would tell me that it was a good thing, paranoia would keep me safe. In all honesty, it's made me kind of crazy and skittish.

I don't trust anyone.

Some mornings I can feel eyes dissect me. Hell, I can't tell for sure if it's a man or a woman in there. But each weekday morning they're in the booth—have been for the past six months.

I came to Chicago for college, Northwestern University to be precise. I'm studying nursing. The unholy hour of my commute began with summer classes and continues now with my rotation at Northwestern Memorial Hospital. I'm seriously hating my roommate for getting the choice placement of Evanston-Northwestern Hospital for her practicum. Annoying little pixie whore, that one is.

She's banging Whitlock, our TA. They were shameless during clinicals. She gets to sleep until a respectable hour and walk—walk I say—the few blocks to the hospital. Better yet, the school shuttle comes just a few steps from our apartment.

Pushy little tramp, I don't know why I agreed to move out of the dorms and into off-campus housing with her this year. I really can't stand the materialistic, narcissistic midget.

She's a spoiled rich kid, a true southern belle. We shared a dorm room for two years, and then her folks offered her an apartment on the condition that I move in too. I sense that they don't trust Little Miss Mary Alice. Or maybe I'm the live in help, because that's how I feel most days anyway. That little slut acts like she has never seen a dishwasher before, so I'm left loading and unloading it daily, not to mention all the other tedious, mundane, bullshit tasks that I do because the princess can't be bothered.

Have I said how much I hate my roommate?

Alice must suck a mean cock to pull ENH because she is a terrible student. She'll never use her degree because she'll never have to work. Mommy and Daddy will take care of everything. This college thing is just what you do to catch a husband. Fucking Alice is always on my ass to go to some stupid party or trying to hook me up with some frat boy. Uh, no thank you!

So here I am—alone—on a crisp September morning. It's my birthday and this crazy Chicago weather has me chilled to bone. At 48 degrees you'd think I'd be used to it coming from Washington and all, but this schizophrenic Midwest weather is giving me whiplash. A couple of days ago I was in shorts.

Wrapping my jacket tighter around myself, I take a long sip of my coffee cursing under my breath that I didn't dry my hair before I went out this morning. The icy moisture dripping along my scalp and around my ears greatly enhances the chill in the air.

A click and a creak behind me set me on high alert. Quickly, I tuck my keys between my knuckles like my dad taught me, turning my fist into a pointy jagged weapon. My adrenaline is pumping overtime; I really don't want to have to put the CTA attendant's eye out this morning.

I straighten my back and stand erect, ready for them to make a move.

"Um, excuse me, miss," a voice calls out from behind me. It's like the richest liquid chocolate coating my eardrums and oozing into my brain. I think I audibly moan. "I was just notified that the train is delayed, there's a switching problem at the depot."

Just then a disembodied female voice comes over the loud speaker giving the same information. "Well, there you have it. Confirmation," he says.

A soft smile plays on my lips, contradicting my defensive stance. Turning to face him, I slip my keys back into my pocket.

My breath stops at the sight before me. I must be dreaming. This man. Oh, this man!

There is no way all of that could have been hidden behind the fucked up glass. He's so beautiful—too gorgeous to be contained in some musty booth. Why isn't he on billboards, in magazines and the movies or something? His likeness deserves to be on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, not hidden away at some nasty old "L" station.

"Thanks for the heads up," I manage to squeak out.

Damn, I soak my scrubs as I drool all over myself. Don't even get me started on my panties...


End file.
